


sweet you rock

by commanderdameron



Category: Won't Back Down (2012)
Genre: Cock Warming, Creampie, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 22:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30112833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commanderdameron/pseuds/commanderdameron
Summary: Michael’s been busy grading assignments all week, but you finally talk him into cuddling on the couch with you while he works.
Relationships: Michael Perry/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	sweet you rock

You hate the end of each semester, because no matter how much Michael _swears_ that he planned ahead, he’s stuck grading late into the night for at least a week. Even with only the small daily assignments, the amount of work that he brings home isn’t great, but the end of the semester means final projects and five paragraph essays and _assessing how much they got out of the unit as a whole_. Or something.

All you know is, for that week, he monopolizes the dining room table with his grading, and he rushes through dinner, and he doesn’t come to bed until late.

And maybe he’s still right there, but you fucking _miss_ him. You miss _fucking_ him, too—he’s so worn out after working that he just curls into you and falls asleep. It’s tender and sweet and you love it, in its own way, but it’s… not what you want.

You tell him as much on Thursday night, taking his hand when he gets up from the kitchen table to get back to work. “I’m so sick of this, babe. What if you graded in our room tonight?”

Michael looks down at you with raised eyebrows. “I never get any work done when I try to grade in our room.”

Well. He’s not _wrong_ , and you purse your lips rather than try to deny it. “Maybe that’s what you need, though. A break.”

“Or maybe that’s what _you_ need,” he teases. Bending down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

He releases your hand and moves over to the sink to dispose of his plate before heading back into the dining room to work, and with a sigh, you rise to your feet and trail after him. Michael makes a beeline for the very center of the table, already shifting into problem-solving mode—where was he before dinner? What should his next move be?

You linger in the doorway and lean against the door jamb, taking him in for a brief moment. There is something about him when he gets like this that _is_ very attractive; the single-mindedness of it all.

“I just want to hang out, I promise. Winding down with you is my favorite part of the day.”

Michael doesn’t even look away from the table as he hums. “And if it happens to lead to some orgasms…”

“Are you offering?” you retort, and fine, maybe you smirk when he has to suppress a laugh.

With a sigh, Michael assesses his papers for a long moment before looking up to meet your eye. “I’ll come work on the couch. _Actually_ work. That’s the best you’re going to get from me.”

Like that doesn’t already feel like a win. You grin and turn around to rush to your bedroom, a cheerful spring in your step. “I’ll go grab my book.”

“I’m serious, babe!” he calls after you. “Just work, no orgasms.”

“Understood!”

Which like… it’s not a lie, precisely. But Michael lets you lie across the couch and settle your head against his thigh while you read, and he feels so warm and sturdy against you. You glance up at his face every page or so to see his very thoughtful expression as he processes his students’ work. His fingers absent-mindedly trace over your stomach.

You turn onto your side, and Michael’s grip on you changes easily, automatically. His hand remains lightly splayed across your stomach, rising and falling with your breaths—your breaths that grow just a little bit more rapid as you gently settle your fingers on his thigh.

For a little while, you do keep up a guise of reading, but it’s unmistakable what you’re doing. Your hand has strayed to the inside of his thigh, _flirting_ with the idea of settling over his crotch.

Michael exhales – a laugh – when you run a finger up the seam of his jeans to his zipper. “You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

“I’m not trying to be smooth.” No, you’re absolutely not; you see little point in pretending to be coy or subtle about the fact that you’re craving him. Especially when you know that Michael quite _likes_ it when you’re straightforward. “Easier for you to tell me to stop when you want me to if you know exactly what I’m doing.”

He takes in a long breath. His pen has stilled over the assignment that he’s grading, and you were unbuttoning his pants but now you stop, too, waiting. Turning your head to look up at him.

“We might be able to reach a compromise,” he allows. Biting his lip when you take that as a cue to undo his jeans and tuck your hand into his pants.

Gently goading him, you ask, “Mhm?”

You touch him over his underpants, first, palming his cock and smirking at the way he rolls his hips toward you. Already, your mind is racing with images of Michael hoisting you up and carrying you to bed, or maybe pressing you into the couch while he fucks you right there. Sucking hickeys into your neck because the last ones he gave you are completely gone and _God_ you need him to mark you up again.

But then Michael says, “I’m standing by the no orgasms thing, _but_ …” He laughs softly when you make an audible noise of disapproval. “It might… be nice for you to sit on my cock while I work. If you want.”

Oh.

Now that might be _quite_ nice.

Rolling over onto your stomach, you crane your neck to look up at Michael. His gaze stays on your face until you grind your pelvis against the cushion beneath you; in an instant, he’s looking at your ass, and you can’t help smirking to yourself. “Just you inside me while you read all those essays?”

“If you want,” he reiterates.

His Adam’s apple bobs when you push yourself up into a sitting position and get so damn close. You settle on your knees, your ass perched on your heels, and you card your free hand through his hair—at the same time that, in his pants, you reach into his underwear to gently stroke his hardening cock without any fabric between you. “And if I’m good, and neither of us come?”

“Baby, I’ll make you come until you cry,” Michael murmurs. He lets out an abrupt sigh and ruts against your hand when your thumb smooths over the head of his cock. “Sleep be damned. Just so long as I can finish this first.”

Fuck, until you _cry_. And the thing is that you’re pretty damn sure he means it. Michael doesn’t like to make promises about sex that he can’t keep.

“Okay,” you say softly.

Almost at once, you pull your hand out of his pants, and he hisses instinctively, but it’s only so that both of you can fumble out of your bottoms. He rolls his eyes when he sees you pull a small bottle of lube from your pocket, which you _also_ retrieved from your bedroom when you went to get your book. “Were you seriously that sure you’d be able to win me over?”

“Were you not?” And from the way Michael smirks and shakes his head, he knows very well that he can’t claim to have been oblivious.

You share a few giggly kisses when you climb into his lap, and he looks at you with shining eyes while you open the bottle of lube and squeeze some onto your hand. At the same moment that you start to apply it to his cock with steady, firm strokes – and oh, he was half-aroused already, but a thrill rushes through you as he grows harder with your touch – his hand tucks between your legs.

Michael smiles against your lips when the pads of his fingers find your folds—and then, moments later, when he presses two digits into your cunt. They fit smoothly, easily, and he adds another finger at once. “And here I was worried you wouldn’t be ready for me, baby. Have you been getting wet thinking of the filthy things you want to do with me?”

You nibble at his lip playfully. “Maybe. Been missing your cock, Michael.”

He groans—at your words or at the way you tighten your grip on his dick a little bit as if to illustrate your point. “I’ve been missing your pussy, sweetheart. So much. This is exactly what I need.”

And you wouldn’t be unhappy if you kept this up forever; you and Michael gradually working each other up while you kiss, giddy and playful. But you also want to take him seriously and let him get back to grading if that’s what he wants. Too damn soon, you whisper, “Now, baby?”

“Yes, please.”

So you bite your lip and line his cock up with your entrance, sinking onto him slowly. He groans eagerly as he fills you, and there’s a softness to his smile while he takes in the sight of you. You, perched on top of him and so damn warm and good around his cock. Your attention briefly shifts from Michael so that you can grab the nearby tissues to wipe off your hand – a more proper cleaning can wait – but when you look back, he’s tucked his fingers into his mouth, tasting you. Pupils blown wide.

“You look good like that,” you tell him.

Michael pops his fingers from his mouth and gives you the filthiest grin. “I’d rather get between your thighs and taste you properly, but I can wait.” Gently, he settles his fingers on your parted lips; your juices are gone, but they still taste and smell of you, and it makes you squirm slightly over him before you remember yourself. “Can you do something for me?”

God, you can’t help but clench around him at his soft voice, so tender and husky and _of course_ you’d do fucking _anything_ for Michael. With a nod, you hum, “Mhm.”

“Since my lap is _otherwise occupied_ …” He shifts and twitches inside of you, making you let out a little whimper. “Could you hold the papers while I look over them?”

You swallow hard, nodding again. “Why does that feel so scandalous?”

Chuckling softly, Michael leans in close to kiss and nuzzle your neck. “Maybe because when I hand them back, I’ll just be thinking about how good you feel right now. So warm and tight and perfect.”

Before you can reply – not that you know what you might _say_ , because your heart is pounding in your throat and you can’t think of anything but how much you want to rock your hips against him – he leans back into the couch again. With the movement, his cock shifts inside you again, bumping against your cervix as you take him deeper. Exhaling a shaky breath, you whisper, “Fuck.”

He smirks and retrieves his folder and a small stack of papers from the end table, handing them over to you as though nothing has happened. You bite your lip, not quite able to breathe as he guides your hands around the folder and papers just so—showing you precisely where on the page he wants you to hold it, and how high.

“Right here, babe, alright?”

“Alright.”

Then he picks up his pen and sticks the cap in his mouth while he begins to look over a paper. Nonchalant as fuck.

Michael seems, by all outward signs, to be focused on his work. He hums to himself while he reads, and his brow is furrowed thoughtfully, and every so often he nods or shakes his head before jotting down a note. Sometimes muttering to himself about run-on sentences or subject-verb agreement.

Oh, yes, he sure as hell seems focused. He churns through papers and he seems focused.

Except you also feel him inside you each time his cock twitches seemingly out of nowhere; no indication in his expression that he’s _trying_ to tease, but oh, does he keep drawing gasps and whimpers out of you. His free hand keeps settling on your bare thigh, lingering there for a while before smoothing over your skin to curve around your hip and your ass. Each time he goes to write a comment, he wraps his hand over yours to hold the paper steady. His touch is tender, and each time, he squeezes before pulling away again.

It is exquisite and it is _agonizing_ , because you’ve wanted this closeness all week. You’ve _ached_ for it, getting yourself off more than once and knowing that it did nothing to compare to Michael. But need is bubbling up in your gut with no end in sight, and somehow that thought only turns you on more.

His lips curl around his pen before he murmurs, “I felt that.”

 _That_ being you rolling your hips slightly.

“Like I felt you twitch your cock inside me,” you mutter back.

Michael just laughs and squeezes your ass lightly, making you clench around him.

Somewhere you stop breathing, just a little bit, because with each inhale and exhale, it takes everything in you to refrain from rocking against his cock (and you do it once or twice anyway). You hold the folder flush against your chest, and if it’s a pain in the ass to try and deal with the rise and fall of your breaths, Michael says nothing about it—maybe because he can graze his hand against your breast, now, each time he goes to write a note.

There’s a moment where you clench your walls again and see, suddenly, how affected he is by this, too. You see him breath catch before, at last, he swallows hard, and his hands are trembling when he reaches out to write a comment a few moments later.

You can’t help yourself—you shift again, easing his cock out of you just slightly before taking him in again.

He groans, and for the first time, he squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head back, trying to give himself a moment. “I’m so close with this one, babe, then just two more.”

It’s meant as reassurance and it is, a little bit, but it sure does turn you on to see the way his own resolve is wavering. You’re aching with it all—his cock filling you, the tenderness with which he’s holding you, his own desire gradually breaking down his efforts to remain collected while he finishes his grading.

“Okay.”

Sporadically, though, you roll your hips just so, working very hard to hold back the moans that you feel tucked in the back of your throat, bursting to come out. Each time, Michael breathes just a little bit more sharply.

When you see him set aside the second-to-last paper, you lick your lips to yourself—Michael sure as hell does his best to ignore it, his eyes focused on the final assignment, although you feel his cock twitch inside you and you don’t think it’s on purpose, this time.

But that has nothing on his reaction when you let the folder go with one hand and reach down to touch your clit.

“Fuck, babe,” Michael breathes, at the same moment that you finally let a moan escape your lips.

Because _fuck_ you’ve needed this, your clit aching to be touched since you settled on his cock an eternity ago. You’re light, fleeting with your own touch, but it eases and intensifies your own desire all at once.

“I won’t push myself too far,” you reassure him, breathless. “Just… just needed this, baby.”

He groans and rocks into your cunt once more before tearing his eyes from your face.

And it’s true; you toy with your clit, flicking and circling your fingers over it but you kind of can’t help being transfixed by Michael’s intense gaze on his work. His smiles or frowns upon finding something the student did right or wrong. His lower lip, pulled underneath his teeth and you’re almost certain that it’s your fault—that it’s him trying to keep himself focused when he’s desperate to get his mouth on _you_ , instead. It’s the most gut-wrenching combination of focus and longing and it’s so fucking sexy.

That’s the only apparent explanation for how you’re still resisting the urge to ride him.

Because his cock is throbbing against your walls, hitting you so well and you can practically feel how dream-like, how perfect it’ll feel to ease off of him and take him again. To be empty and then so fucking full after keeping him warm and wet and hard without satisfaction for so long. But you see the conflict on his face, and you want to be good for him. Let him finish his work like you know he wants to.

You jolt slightly when Michael blurts, “Fucking hell.” Clench around his cock again. And for a second that feels like an eternity, you think it’s because of you, but then he caps his pen and grabs the paper and folder from your hand. “Done.”

In the same instant that he slams the final assignment down in his completed pile, he grabs at your neck with his other hand, pulling you into a desperate kiss. He thrusts his hips up toward you at the same moment you whimper into his mouth and grind down onto his cock before pulling off and then sinking back down again. Each of you moan, the sound needy as hell and it’s the sexiest damn thing you’ve ever heard.

Michael’s tongue chases yours; his hands move to cup your ass and squeeze, drawing another eager noise out of you. He’s often more playful and talkative during sex, but now he seems single-minded—the gradual build-up of it all pushing him toward agony that he needs to relieve as soon as possible.

“So patient for me, baby,” he gasps, pulling his mouth from yours to shift his attention to your neck. _Fuck_ you need his mouth on your neck. “Loved having you around me, so damn close and warm and good.”

You’ve kept up the ministrations on your clit, more precise and determined since Michael kissed you. And you feel your climax building, pulling in your gut and your lungs from the frantic movements of your fingers and from Michael’s cock while he fucks you just right.

Then there’s just something about the way he sucks on your neck.

You come with a desperate cry, your head lolling back while you continue to ride him with haphazard strokes. It’s only a few seconds later that your clenching walls coax Michael’s orgasm out of him, as well.

He grasps your chin tenderly and pulls you into a languorous kiss while you both come down from your highs—temporarily spent.

“We forgot to put a towel down,” Michael murmurs when he leans back at last. He nuzzles your jaw with his nose, and you feel so damn soft and warm. “My cum’s gonna make such a mess when I pull out.”

“Don’t pull out, then. I’m too spoiled by your cock now. Just want you inside me like this forever.”

As if to illustrate your point, you curl your arms around his shoulders and squeeze your thighs tight against his sides, giving him a cheeky smile.

Michael makes a show of looking resigned for a long beat before grabbing your ass and rising to his feet, hoisting you up as he goes. You laugh eagerly and wrap your legs around his waist, clutch his shoulders tighter, all while he points out, “Or you could leak all over our sheets instead.”

You press a kiss to his jaw with a soft sigh. Feeling warm and full and so so good.


End file.
